to say good-bye
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: You tried to help him prepare for this, but you had no idea what was coming, did you? No one knew what was coming, what would happen in that graveyard last year. No one had any idea that only one would come back alive, and that it wouldn't be Harry. You didn't know how much it would hurt to not be able to say good-bye. AU-Harry dies fourth year


_**Written for the 'Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Round 9: Butterfly Effect-AU Stories.' Puddlemere, Chaser 2, using prompts: Dialogue: "Look, it doesn't matter – forget it, okay?" Dialogue: "She wasn't looking.", bleeding heavily. **_

_**Written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 34, public opinion. **_

_**Written for the 'Ten times Ten Challenge' by Utlaga, using Institution: Azkaban. **_

_**Harry, for the record, dies in this story-after all, it is AU. **_

….

"Where are we, Harry? Is this….is this a graveyard? Why would the cup take us to a graveyard? What the hell?" Cedric laughed, tapping his shoes on one of the stones, looking around in bewilderment. He'd never seen this graveyard before, had no idea why it might have taken them here of all places, unless this was also part of the third task? Would some horrible beast come launching out at Cedric and Harry any moment, or was this the end, when they received their prize and their congratulations. And, besides, how had the cup even known to bring them here-what weird charms had the cast on it? "This place is weird, don't you think?" Cedric shivered, instinctively drawing closer to the cup once more. "A weird place to take us….the cup," it had just dawned on him as he shivered in the freezing graveyard. "The cup was a Portkey, wasn't it?"

"Cedric, shut up," Harry whispered, stepping away from Cedric and the cup, peering into the darkness. "Don't move, don't speak," he murmured quietly, taking careful steps, moving gingerly so as to not disturb the ground as he moved. "Someone's here, someone else besides us is here, and they're watching us. Don't make it obvious, but look across the graveyard-towards the house. See them?" Cedric did, a short figure in dark robes, who seemed to only be watching them, not making any motion towards the two teens, as if he were studying them. "The cup….a Portkey…..what's going on, Cedric? How'd we end up here?" He sounded small and frightened, and Cedric was once again reminded of the fact that Harry was only fourteen years old, only a child-a frightened little boy who didn't understand.

"Harry, where are you going?" Cedric hissed at the younger boy, who stepped closer to the hooded figure, wand pulled tentatively out, though Cedric wasn't sure what spells a fourth year could know to fight off an adult-assuming the hooded figure was even human, which wasn't entirely likely, giving its eerie stillness, the way it remained almost inhumanly silent as Harry moved closer. "Harry, stop, don't, don't get near it-" He didn't see the sharp glint of a knife, neither of them did, and suddenly Harry cried out as the figure moved impossibly fast, a knife running across Harry's smooth skin on his right arm, and the boy yelled.

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Cedric yelled, irrationally abandoning his spot by the cup to run over, fingers fumbling with the wand in his hand, and he raised the wood, preparing a spell in his mind, thinking out the word-but just then, there was a sharp pain in his side and neck, and a tentative hand moved upwards to find a gash in the side of his neck, bleeding heavily. Harry had fallen to the ground as blood pulled out of his own wound, a deeper, darker colour that make Cedric feel sick. The younger boy moaned as the hooded figure stabbed him again, pulling away a knife of blood before walking off into the distance, and Cedric couldn't help but retch into the dirt.

"The cup, Cedric!" Harry yelled, waving at the gleaming piece of cheap metal that now taunted them both. Cedric moved over as quickly to Harry as he could, gripping the younger boy in his arms, pulling him. "You've got to get the cup, it's our only way back. Please, it's the only way you're going to get back….I…" he paused for a moment, breathing deeply before turning to look at Cedric, blood pulling in his mouth, and he choked. "I'm not going to make it-go without me, just take the cup and go. You'll be the winner, a Hogwarts victory for all."

"You think I'm concerned about winning?" Cedric scoffed. "Look, it doesn't matter – forget it, okay? All that matter is getting you back alive, Harry. We both need to get back safe." Cedric said, gripping his arms tightly, pulling the boy along with him. He wasn't thinking, he needed to think through this figure out how to get them both to safety, though Harry's eyes already seemed to be fading. "The cup…right," he wanted to smack himself. "I'm an idiot-it's a Portkey, of course-it can take us back, right Harry?" He reached out for the cup, which had begun to glow blue, taking his eyes off the Gryffindor for a second; when he looked back, all Cedric saw was the green light hitting Harry, and then all the life leaving the fourteen year old. He heard only one last thing leave the younger teen's lip before he died-one last, final statement.

"Don't let them see me like this, Cedric. Don't let them see me like this." Cedric didn't even have time to figure out what that meant, what he was saying, because the world flipped upside down just then, and he wanted to hurl. Cedric screamed as the graveyard whirled around them, certain he heard a cold, high laugh and saw a pale, skeletal face leering at them. You-Know-Who's face, grinning at Cedric and Harry's body as they disappeared, and Cedric screamed again, louder and almost pained, like it was him who was dying, like You-Know-Who's leering face was causing him physical pain that he just didn't understand, that he'd never experienced before in his entire life. Cedric yelped as he clung to his friend's small body, as the colours of the graveyard blurred before his eyes and disappeared-and then he landed just inside the maze, with students yelling and cheering all around him.

Cedric was bleeding heavily as he staggered back out of the maze, dragging Harry's limp body behind him, tears blurring his vision. All around him was green hedges that melted away into a crowd of cheering, laughing people who seemed to have no idea what was going on, who had no idea what had happened in the maze, what had happened in the graveyard. He dragged a fourteen year's cooling body along with him, picking him up so that Harry's head lolled around on Cedric's shoulder, and he sobbed. The crowd didn't notice, and he heard music pick up, a blaring happy tune that drowned out all the other noise, but did not drown out the thudding of Cedric's heartbeat, loudly pumping in his ears as he sobbed.

"He's dead!" Cedric cried, and he offered the body the crowd of students, who were still celebrating his bloody win, who had still not noticed the way his face was bleeding heavily, or the boy who now was tumbling from Cedric's numb arms as he collapsed to the ground, sobbing loudly. "Here's your champion!" he screamed, pointing at Harry, tears streaming down his face. "Here's your conquering hero, your brave martyr! Here he is-dead! They've killed him, he's dead! You-Know-Who is back, and the only one who could have saved us is dead! Here's your champion, they've killed him." The crowd began to notice as he shrieked, began to fall silent as Cedric tore at the ground, as he screamed at them. They began to see the body that lay in front of him, began to whisper loudly, began to point at the two teens below, one who lay horribly still, and the other who had begun to sob raggedly and loudly, rocking back and forth as he cried.

"Harry!" someone in the stands finally screamed, recognising the body on the ground, and the whispered became louder. "_Potter?" "Harry Potter?" "Is he dead?" "Merlin, what happened to him?" "Oh, god, is he dead?!" "HARRY! HARRY!" _the last screams came from Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, Harry's best friends, as they clambered from their seats, running towards Cedric, towards the fourteen year old who was dead on the ground. Cedric saw through his tears as they were stopped by a teacher, told not to go any farther, even though Weasley seemed intent on continuing his argument with the teacher, anxious to reach his friend, to confirm or deny his best mate's death. Cedric could only sob harder as a soft hand flittered over his back.

"Come with me, Mr. Diggory," said a commanding, but soft voice, and Cedric followed after the voice, vaguely recognising it as Dumbledore's, who led him past the screaming crowd, the crying students, and the stunned teachers. He could only continue crying himself, imaging Harry slipping to the ground as a bright green light flashed in front of Cedric's eyes, as blood spilled over worn stone, and the young boy let out one last startled cry before falling silent forever. Cedric cried, remembering the terror in Harry's bright green eyes as he stared at Cedric, as his eyes died, becoming little more than glassy green marbles that stared eternally upwards, but never saw anything. Harry Potter was dead-Cedric had watched him die, and hadn't done anything about it. He could still see You-Know-Who's leering, smirking face staring down at him as the cup whisked him away, and Cedric tried to stifle a sob, terrified of what he'd seen.

….

_The Boy Who Lied, Dead? _

_Possible Suicide from Potter?_

_The TriWizard Tournament Claims another Victim_

_Potter, Fourteen, Dead in Tournament. _

_Friends and Classmates of Potter Mourn. _

_Is Potter really dead-or is it all a hoax?_

_A cry for attention from some teenage boys?_

_IS the Dark lord back? _

_Diggory and Dumbledore conspiring to use Potter death to lie about the Dark Lord's Return! _

_Potter-Martyr, or Misguided Child?_

_What really happened in the graveyard that night; who killed who, exactly? _

_Diggory brought in for questioning regarding murder of fellow classmate, Harry Potter. _

_Diggory, eighteen, thrown in Azkaban for murder of fourteen year old Harry Potter! _

_Public Opinion: Diggory a murderer, Dumbledore Mad!_

_Hogwarts Headmaster resigns position!_

_Umbridge steps in as reigning Headmistress of Hogwarts!_

_A New Age for Hogwarts School?_

_Life Sentence for Diggory following murder of classmate one year previous! _

….

She wasn't looking, wasn't properly paying attention, to the headlines of the newspapers that lay scattered around the room that she shared with Ginny, though Hermione knew they were there. She was more than aware of the stacks of paper, the articles that had been pinned to the wall, the flashing photos of a young boy's finally moments of life, of a young man's final seconds of freedom. Hermione sighed, and leaned back against the wall, listening as the adults yelled and argued downstairs. She could hear Remus' voice very loudly, and what sounded like Dedalus as well, possibly arguing about the plans made during their usual meetings-which Hermione was _not _allowed to attend, seeing as how she was only sixteen, too young to join the Order, too young to be any help.

_Never too young to die. _

They'd been locked up in this damnable house for going on a year now-ever since Harry died, and Cedric had gone to Azkaban for murdering him, Dumbledore and the other adults had been worried about the well-being of the Muggleborns and blood traitors. Hermione and the Weasleys were schooled at home now ("home" being Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place in the heart of London, the house of the Blacks) and they hardly ever left for fear of being attacked. After all, the Order had made themselves very well-known back in January when there had been a big fight on the school grounds of Hogwarts. It was also obvious to all-except the Ministry, who seemed intent on ignoring the obvious, per usual-that You-Know-Who was back, possibly for good. After all, there was no Boy-Who-Lived still around to get rid of him.

_Harry's dead, and you do nothing to remember him. _

Hermione hated Grimmauld Place, hated the sullen looks that the portraits gave her, hated the way it turned everyone crabby and grouchy all the time; she and Ginny tiptoed around the adults now, staying out of the way, but trying to listen in on the meetings to see if they'd come up with a plan yet. After all, they couldn't allow the Dark Lord to rule forever, right? Something had to be done about the houses, and the Muggles who didn't have a mark on them, that were perfectly healthy except that they were no longer breathing. Surely the Order had to be working on some sort of plan to stop the Death Eaters-yet, it didn't seem to be getting them anywhere.

_Do you remember burying him, the way he looked? So young. _

Hermione had nothing to do with her life except read and write and practice spells-she quickly grew bored and irritated with her placid life, locked up inside all day, never allowed to see true sunshine or run across the grass, because something might happen to her. The adults went to Diagon Alley to pick up supplies when needed, or left on missions, walking as freely as they could in a world slowly being taken over by the Dark Lord; Hermione, however, was not even allowed to go into the garden, not even in the dead of night, when no one would have been able to see her. It was dangerous, she was told, and so Hermione slowly grew more and angrier with each passing day. 396 days-that's how long she'd been locked up in this house, three hundred and ninety-six days and counting.

_You cried as they covered his face-you screamed as they brought him past you. _

She had taken up writing letters to Cedric, who was _truly _locked up, in Azkaban, for a crime he had not committed-the murder of Harry Potter. Hermione and Cedric had never been close in school-he was a Hufflepuff Pureblood three years ahead of Hermione-but it was a way of connecting with someone other than the dozen people who shared her living quarters. It was communication with someone that was not the same people she had to interact with and pretend to be happy with and lie to that _yes, I'm fine, and no I'm not crying. _She talked to him through her letters, telling him she knew the truth, that he was innocent, that he would never have harmed Harry, and that it just wasn't in his nature. She told him about the things she read in her books, the spells she was learning. She told him about the dreams she still kept locked up tightly-like, her dream that somewhere out there, Harry was still alive, healthy and planning a rebellion.

_You said nothing as Cedric Diggory walked past, a convicted man who has done no wrong. _

Cedric never replied back-most likely, there was no parchment or quills to write with in Azkaban-and she wasn't even sure if he ever got her letters, but it at least made life a little easier, being able to write out every little thing in her life, as if he would bother himself with such trivial things, as if he cared about her in some way, just enough to read her long, rambling letters. Hermione knew nothing about him-Cedric was the foreign pen pal who never wrote back-but at the same time, she felt closer to this stranger than she did Ron or Ginny, who were beginning to wear on her, a constant reminder of Harry, of what she had lost when he died. She wrote to a stranger because he was not near her, because he would not remind her of that laughing dark-haired boy, and because he did not make her cry, like this damnable house and its occupants did.

_Your friend, your freedom, your schooling, your bravery-all gone, because of one boy. _

Sometimes, Hermione liked to just sit in the room that Ron should have been sharing, on the bed that should have been Harry's. She would lay there, staring at the ceiling, and wonder what might have happened if You-Know-Who hadn't killed Harry, if Cedric hadn't brought his body back from the graveyard. Might she still be at Hogwarts, sitting alongside her half-blood and Pureblood classmates, learning the same things as them, worrying about the same trivial little things like weekend dates? Would Ron still smile, instead of moping silently like a ghost? Would Ginny be able to act like she was still alive, instead of picking at her meals and sighing quietly? Would the nightmares go away-loud, scary things that woke Hermione up in the night and made her sweat and scream? She hated sleeping, hated going to sleep some nights, because it meant seeing Harry's wide open, unseeing eyes. She hated sleeping some nights because it meant facing the truth, it meant admitting that Harry was dead, and she had lost.

_You cry yourself to sleep at night, and you miss him with every waking breath. _

In her dreams, Harry was still alive, and Cedric Diggory was still free. In her dreams, she wasn't locked up in a dark house-she was able to dance in the sunlight, feel the smooth grass under her bare feet. She was able to run around and laugh and make noise, instead of having to be quiet like church mice while the grown-ups did their job downstairs. In her dreams, she didn't cry because everything was fine, and she was able to save everyone. Ron, Ginny-happy and carefree, not knowing their friend had almost died. Harry-fine and unharmed, because he'd never even been in the tournament. Cedric-a free man, because there was no one to blame him for Harry's murder, since it had never happened. In her dreams, life was fine, which made waking up that much harder every morning. When she woke up, it was to a dark room and a dark present, and no promise of any sort of tomorrow, let alone a bright one.

_You tried to help him prepare for this, but you had no idea what was coming, did you? _

_No one knew what was coming, what would happen in that graveyard last year. _

_No one had any idea that only one would come back alive, and that it wouldn't be Harry. _

_You didn't know how much it would hurt to not be able to say good-bye. _


End file.
